


disco stick

by thoseguitarists



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Auto Fellatio, Blowjobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Narry - Freeform, Solo!Harry, it's quite weird but i mean it's cool and kinky too ha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoseguitarists/pseuds/thoseguitarists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I think Louis’s right,” Liam replies, shrugging as he looks away from Harry to turn a few knobs on the stand. “Being so flexible and agile really does come in handy ― in the sense that you don’t necessarily need hands.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	disco stick

**Author's Note:**

> "I think I'm quite agile." ― Harry Styles

“Ah, lookie here, lads!”

Sometimes Louis ― being the little shit he is ― likes to cause a bit of mischief during the most compromising times of the day. Usually, it’s mediocre things such as running the security ragged or cockily answering questions during an interview or fiddling with the mics that are clipped onto their clothes ― and that’s okay. He doesn’t get into much trouble when he does goofy things like that.

However, some days, when he’s feeling a bit more naughty than usual, he likes to target the boys, and his favorite victim is Niall, much to Harry’s amusement.

They’re filming the dodgeball sequence for James Corden’s late, late show, and they’ve been at it for a bit so they’ve decided to take a much needed break. Sweat is sticky on Harry’s skin and the dampness makes Liam’s arms glisten and Louis’s hair fall flat and Niall’s face turn a faint red.

The thing is, Niall’s always lacked stamina for one reason or another, and that’s why it’s the perfect time for Louis to tease him when they’re doing something rather strenuous such as this hilarious scene. It’s nothing nasty, per se, but when Niall gets embarrassed, his eyes go wide and his lips part deliciously so and his Adam’s apple bobs, and really, he looks pretty fucking cute and dirty and beautiful and sexy at the same time. In Harry’s opinion.

Because when Niall’s like that, blushing and wet and breathless and hot, Harry can’t help himself but think about how Niall would look like completely naked and spread wide underneath Harry as he pounds and thrusts and licks and sucks and bites and kisses.

Suffice to say, Harry’s gotten more than his fair share of erections during trivial activities such as filming a skit because of Niall’s adorable innocence and Louis’s wild antics.

“Our little Irish twink can’t even touch his toes without bending his knees!” Louis exclaims, dropping to his bum next to Niall on the gym floor; his tone is laced with mischief and his eyes are bright. Harry sits down on the bleachers next to Liam, bouncing his leg and ripping off his sweat band to readjust it as he looks over at Niall and Louis.

The other people in the gym ― actors James has hired who are quite nice and respectable and polite, actually ― are ambling about and conversing with one another, completely overlooking the four sweaty boys sat out before them, and Harry really can’t find it in him to care, honestly. He’s a bit wiped himself.

“Shut it,” Niall grumbles as he wipes the sweat off his forehead and dries it on the tight uniform he’s wearing. He looks yummy, good enough to eat, and Harry has to stifle a chuckle at this thoughts, shrugging when Liam gives him an inquisitive glance. “My arms are short and my legs are long, and I’m very unproportioned so I can’t do stuff like that.”

“Harry!” Louis calls and turns his attention to Harry, smirking deviously. Louis knows ― Liam, too, as well as Zayn ― about the heavy crush Harry has on Niall, and Louis never misses an opportunity to make Harry hot and bothered while Niall’s flustered and embarrassed. He really is a little shit. “Why don’t you demonstrate the _correct_ way to touch your knees so Niall can do it without making up shitty excuses?”

Niall scoffs. “I know how to do it, ya dumb fuck,” he says. “Some people just aren’t made out of elastic like Harry.”

“I think I’m quite agile,” Harry inputs, shrugging and pursing his lips as he smiles softly at Niall, crossing his legs to avoid the inevitable hard-on he’ll eventually get from Niall’s hot state. “It’s really not that hard, Ni. You just need to practice, is all.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Niall rolls his eyes, miffed and upset and frustrated. “You can do the splits. You’re, like, a contortionist. In fact, why don’t you try out for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad? Great place to showcase your talents there, I’m sure.”

He winks, and yeah, it’s all in good fun, but Harry’s hard cock doesn’t see the lightness in the situation.

“Oh?” Liam says from next to Harry, flicking his gaze toward Harry’s slightly red face. “You can do the splits?” Harry nods; Liam raises a brow and attempts to the hide the smirk on his lips to no avail. Harry definitely caught it, and he’s trying to put out the suggestive thoughts the smirk bred into his mind. “Very impressive.

“Yeah,” Harry says, shrugging. “I can do a cartwheel and a front flip, too.” He turns to Niall then, grinning so big it hurts his cheeks. “And I do look really great in a skirt, if I do say so myself. I’ve got the legs for it.”

This time, he winks, and it’s Niall’s turn to shift uncomfortably, rolling his eyes in the back of his head as he averts his gaze from Harry’s.

Louis and Liam laugh, and Niall looks more than a little bit dejected at having his joke fired back at him, but he isn’t giving up. “Well,” he begins arrogantly, egotistically, and Harry’s smile only broadens because he’s gotten under hot, sweaty skin now, too, “I don’t see any point in being able to contort yourself into a human pretzel.”

“Sounds like somebody’s a bit jealous, eh?” Louis quips, kicking Niall’s foot lightly with his.

Niall huffs and crosses his arms, which only makes his wet muscles bulge more prominently, teasing Harry in a way that shouldn’t be legal. “Name one benefit of being ‘quite agile’, Lou, and I’ll admit I’m jealous.”

At this, Louis laughs out loud and moves closer to Niall, putting his lips next to Niall’s ear. Louis cups his hands and whispers something, light and airy and inaudible, side-eyeing Harry as he does so. Immediately, Niall’s eyes widen and his face begins to flush even darker, showcasing at least fifty shades of red that make his pale skin pop beautifully in the fluorescent lights above.

Just as Louis’s pulling away, James comes back in and announces that they should get back to work if everybody’s good to go; Louis and Liam stand and stretch, moving over to their designated side of the court while Harry steps closer to Niall, holding out a hand to pull him up.

“What’d he say?” Harry asks, curious and confused all at once as he drops Niall’s hand to prevent a bout of suspicion.

Niall just bites his lip and shakes his head; his face is _so red_ and his mouth is parted in what Harry assumes is surprise and his bright blue eyes are large and he just looks really, really pretty.

“Doesn’t matter, H,” he says, forcing a smile as he slings his arm around Harry’s shoulders and walks them over to where the other boys are waiting. “S’all in good fun anyway. But hey, if you can do it, I’m definitely jealous.”

* * *

 

Harry doesn’t know what Louis whispered to Niall, but he’s fairly sure it’s something sexual because for the remainder of the skit Niall’s eyes are fixated lecherously upon Harry’s crotch. He’s trying to be inconspicuous about his staring ― Harry can tell by the look of concentration on his face ― but you can only glance down so many times before it’s no longer accidental. Besides, Niall’s can’t seem to stop licking his lips.

At one point, Niall and Harry are the only two in the game, and Niall’s too busy ogling Harry’s half-hard dick in the tight shorts and Harry’s caught up in watching the way Niall watches him that he doesn’t know there’s a ball flying straight for him till it hits his crotch, sending a burst of dull, throbbing pain through his system. He whines and Niall gasps and they lock gazes, blinking hard and rapid.

It’s at this moment that Harry really wishes these fucking uniforms weren’t so goddamn tight.

“Here,” he says, tossing the ball in his hands to Niall, who catches it in a fumbling manner that’s adorably cute. “Have at it.”

Niall nods and turns to face the three remaining women ― and that’s when Harry makes his getaway, flying through the staged gym and into the bathroom, barely making it inside before he’s pulling the skin-tight shorts down and wrapping a sweaty-dampened hand around his cock. He’s hard and leaking, and the tip is red and angry-looking, and it only takes a few quick tugs for him to come, to spew the white liquid onto the ground before him, with the image of Niall’s blushing face painted on the backs of his eyelids for encouraged inspiration.

* * *

 

A few months later, during rehearsals for the concert in Kansas City, Harry finds out just what Louis told Niall as they filmed the skit.

It’s while he’s adjusting his mic stand, turning the knobs and fiddling with the angle to get it just right as Liam walks up beside him and begins to work on his own mount; Harry’s bent on one knee while the other leg is stretched out before him oddly, and though it’s a weird position, he’s comfortable ― and forever grateful that he decided to wear sweatpants to rehearsals instead of his usual tight jeans.

“You really are flexible, Harry,” Liam murmurs after a moment, looking down as Harry tears his focus off the stand.

Harry shrugs. “Guess so.” He’s awkward, tall and lanky and lean and broad, and he falls a lot because he’s more than a little clumsy, but he’s also agile, quick on his feet and swift as he bends and curls and contorts.

He’s got two talents: juggling and agility. Two and half, if you count singing, but he doesn’t, not really.

“Makes me wonder just what you can do with that body of yours, after all.”

Harry cuts a questioning glare up at Liam, narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his brow. “What are you getting at, Liam?” he demands, hard and stiff and agitated.

“You know, I think Louis’s right,” Liam replies, shrugging as he looks away from Harry to turn a few knobs on the stand. “Being so flexible and agile really does come in handy ― in the sense that you don’t necessarily _need_ hands.”

 _What the fuck?_ “What?”

But Liam just throws his head back and guffaws, walking off without explaining to Harry just what in the hell he was getting at. Quickly, Harry twists his upper body around and sees that Liam is now conversing with Sandy and Josh, and though their words are inaudible, Harry catches the gesture Liam does as he puffs his cheeks and makes a fist with his hand like he’s…

Oh.

He’s talking about Harry blowing himself, which is what Louis must’ve told Niall during the skit ― and caused Niall to blush like mad and stare at Harry’s crotch for not only that day but a few after, too.

Harry isn’t entirely sure how he should be feeling about that… observation. It’s a little strange, to say in the least, kind of taboo and uncultured ― but he can’t lie and say that he isn’t curious now. Just a little bit intrigued as to the possibility of giving yourself a blowjob.

He’s given blowjobs before, in the first few years of touring around the world while experimenting with himself and others. However, he’s never considered giving himself oral. His hand works well enough on the few occasions he feels the need to get off, but ― but there’s just something about a mouth, hot and wet and warm and sticky and all-encasing.

He remembers getting his first blowjob after a few concerts into the Up All Night Tour by an older fan with dark blonde hair and wild gray eyes, remembers the way she winked at him and whispered how she was going to make him lose his mind, remembers going rock hard as she skimmed her hands over his taunt thighs and kissed the tip of his leaking prick, remembers how fucking amazing it felt when she wrapped her plump lips around the head of his cock and sucked and licked and kissed, remembers having to grit his teeth and clench his fists in her hair to stop himself from thrusting into her mouth, remembers how he started to sob in pleasure when she began to moan and hum around his dick, remembers how hard and long and quick and strong he came.

Fuck, but it felt good. _So good_.

And he can’t help but think about Niall at the moment ― about how red and flushed Niall’s face got when Harry relayed the information about being blown by the fan whose name he never got that night on the tour bus as they were smashed together on Harry’s bunk, about how Niall had to adjust himself because it turned him on, about how he asked Harry everything and anything.

He’ll never forget Niall asking him what a blow job felt like, never forget shrugging and offering to show Niall exclusively just how explosive it was, never forget Niall’s wide eyes and parted lips and flushed cheeks as he nodded eagerly and launched himself forward, messily crashing his lips to Harry’s as Harry took his time to coax the desire out of Niall, the lust that bloomed and hardened and leaked and came inside Harry’s mouth.

He’ll never forget Niall’s face when he swallowed the white, salty liquid or the way Niall curled himself against Harry’s chest afterward, sleepy and sated and soft and feeling like velvet and silk in his arms.

That was probably one of the best days of Harry’s life.

* * *

 

A few shows later, thirty minutes before the concert begins, Harry finally acts on his stifling curiosity.

Louis just came by announcing how much time they had left a few moments ago, so he knows he’s got plenty of time to experiment before security comes looking to escort him to the stage. He stands up, locks the dressing room door, and then falls back down on the loose sofa, spreading his legs wide and grinning at how there’s already a little tent in his jeans; groaning, he tickles his right hand across his denim-clad jeans, pretending that his fingers are Niall’s and watching as he hardens ever further.

It’s risky. It’s very, very risky.

But life’s based on risks that either turn out good or bad, and he’s willing to own up to any consequences that may arise from this precarious situation.

He undoes his belt quickly and pulls the straps apart, sliding down the zipper of his jeans and lifting his hips as he shimmies the denim down his thighs and along his knees and to his feet, where they pile in a puddle of faded black atop his scarred boots. In his gray boxers, he’s more than half hard, and he doesn’t really know why ― maybe it’s the thrill of getting caught, maybe it’s the excitement of trying something new, maybe it’s the fact that he knows he’ll either fail or succeed at this, maybe it’s the blurred image in his mind of Niall wanking in the hotel room shower last night.

But he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t _care_.

Harry breathes in deeply and runs the tips of the fingers on his right hand along the patch of skin just above the waistline of his underwear, unconsciously bucking his hips as his prick chases the little bit of pleasure he’s inflicting on himself. Sighing, he sticks a hand beneath the fabric of his boxers and grips his cock in a tight fist, bringing his other fist to his mouth to quiet the grunts and groans and moans that leave his mouth as he begins to pump dryly.

He focuses on nothing but the sensation ― the images of dyed blond hair and big blue eyes and a red-tinted pale face and white liquid shooting out from a stiff cock meaning absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

Fuck it. It means everything ― _everything_.

When he’s fully hard, standing tall and stiff and leaking at the tip a bit which creates a little wet spot on his underwear, he removes himself from the confines of his boxers, hissing as the chilly air of the dressing room caresses across the head. He pauses, takes a deep breath and licks his lips.

He’s going to do this. He’s actually going to try and give himself a blowjob, hoping he doesn’t fail, hoping his mind won’t be riddled with thoughts of blue eyes and blond hair and loud laughs and calloused hands and shallows grunts and whined moans as he sucks himself off.

He’s got this. He’s going to do just fine ― fucking amazing, even. He’s going to rock his own world, blow his own mind, and ― and Harry’s giving himself a pep talk before blowing himself. Classy, very nice.

But he pushes those thoughts from his mind and just dips his head down, shutting his eyes. He imagined there to be some sort of pain, some sort of strain in his lower abdomen or back, but it’s surprisingly easy and fluid. He pushes forward more in a practically effortless bend, opening his eyes to see that his mouth is just a few mere inches from his crying cock, hard and leaking between his flushed thighs.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, licks his lips and drops his head further ― and then his lips are touching his cock. He feels the sticky, salty precum, kissing it with his lips, and it invigorates him, cheers him, motivates him more than he already is. He licks the head, sifting his tongue lightly into the slit just how he likes it, and he shivers, breathing raggedly through flared nostrils. His thighs clench and he reaches one hand out wildly, finding the arm of the sofa and gripping it as tight as he possibly can, holding on to it as if it’s the last thing there is keeping his feet grounded.

Finally, gently, he wraps his mouth around the head, softly and comfortably and tenderly. Most men have bravado, too much virile for their own good; they like to try and take as much in as they can and give a hard suck in hopes that it’ll speed the process up. Most women are slow and sensual, careful and wet and slick and slippery and messy. Both methods have their appeal, their attractive characteristic traits that make them a desirable go-to, but Harry rather likes the latter. He prefers the build-up, the teasing and flirting that leads to a mind-blowing orgasm.

Besides, when he gave Niall a blowjob all those years ago, he went slow and long and tight, and it was messy and sticky and so, so dirty.

He takes in more, slowly, easily. He hollows his cheeks and widens his mouth to accommodate his shaft, pulling his lips over his teeth so they don’t catch on the sensitive skin, breathing heavily through his nose as he swipes his tongue around the thick vein protruding from the side. It’s hot in the room; the air is bubbling and vibrating with hot anticipation, and really, he doesn’t know how he managed to wait for so long because he’s absolutely shaking with sensation.

Harry can feel sweat breaking out everywhere ― his forehead, his neck, along his back, between his thighs, at his hips ― and he knows he’s probably going to have to change clothes when he’s done, too, so he doesn’t look so wrecked out on stage.

He pulls off for a second to catch his breath, whining low in his throat as the air in the room hits his wet prick, but he’s back down soon enough. There might be thousands of fans outside in the arena waiting for him, but all he can concentrate on is the feeling of his mouth, so hot and warm and wet and damp.

Beats a hand in the shower any day of the week.

He bobs up and down and relaxes his throat, hollowing his cheeks and pulling off with a popping noise that dances in the air lasciviously; he presses a kiss to the tip and his thighs jerk at the mixed sensations he’s paying to himself. He licks into the slit, sucks the head, swirls his tongue around and around and around till he’s whimpering, writhing in pleasure and moaning Niall’s name around a mouth full of cock.

An orgasm is building, fast and heavy. It’s going to end all too soon.

Harry removes his hand from the arm of the sofa and reaches down to fondle his balls as he sinks low, taking himself deep, till his nose is pressed to the sparse pattering of hair and he’s swallowing around the tip, making all sorts of noises that are strangled and wrecked and loud. He bobs faster, eyes shut, pulse quick, back arching, spine tingling, and then he comes ― _hard,_ with cursed words and slurred promises and blurred whines and whispered gratitude to a ghostly apparition of Niall in the back of his mind.

He swallows all of it. It’s thick and stringy, kind of, but it tastes like anybody else’s cum for the most part, though a bit sweeter maybe. He pulls off, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to the tip before reaching blindly for his shirt, bringing it up and wiping the sweat off his forehead.

He did it. He actually fucking _did it._

A few minutes pass as Harry allows himself to calm down, allows his blood pressure to level out and his breathing to scatter into manageable bursts that relax is nerve-wracked system. At last, he stands, kicking his boots off and stepping out of his jeans and slipping his boxers down his legs. He searches around the room and grabs a few wet wipes off the table, cleaning himself up before pulling his boxers back into place.

There’s a knock at the door, and then: “Harry? You in there?”

It’s Niall. Harry can’t help but smile tiredly, exhausted but happy.

“Yeah, still here,” he calls, jerking his t-shirt up and over his head. “What do you need?”

“Show starts in five. The boys wanted me to let you know.”

“All right.” Harry strides toward the door, unlocking the knob and opening it wide. “I just gotta change real quickly. Wanna come in and wait?”

Niall’s face is sort of red and his lips are wet and his eyes are shining so prettily; he nods and smiles softly, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him as he does so, crossing his arms and leaning against the wood.

“What’s taking you so long, H?” Niall asks, raising a brow as Harry moves around the medium-sized room, grabbing a pair of blue jeans and a fresh white shirt that’s just a little bit wrinkled. “You were ready when Lou came by a few minutes ago.”

At Niall’s questioning, an image forms in Harry’s head that he really doesn’t want to erase, and he drops the clothes out of his hands as he turns and walks toward Niall with a smirk.

“C’mon, Ni. I’ve got something to show you, baby boy.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Looking back now after watching the show, I realize Harry sort of set himself up for something like this to happen and for that I am very, very thankful. He's a true gem, a total charmer, and I adore him almost as much as Niall. As always, thanks for reading and have a lovely, lovely day.


End file.
